V/A - Rust Belt Artists Against Genocide

A Closer Listen

At what point does one become overwhelmed by widespread atrocity, and forced to turn away – or grow so desensitized that horror no longer has an impact?  Faced with the ongoing genocide in Palestine, a group of artists at Infrasonic Press has chosen to do what they can, releasing an album, paperback/digital booklet and short film to express solidarity and to raise funds for the victims.

“It is difficult to fathom the arithmetic of genocide,” writes Ethan Hayden.  Last year, Godspeed You! Black Emperor included the number 28,340 in the title of their album; at the time of this release, the number was 41,821, and by the time of this review it has risen even higher.  Perhaps the saddest statistic quoted is 258, referring to the number of Gaza children killed before their first birthday.  No matter how one does the math, the senseless slaughter of 1139 people in Israel on 7 October, 2023 has certainly been avenged.

Rust Belt Artists Against Genocide begins with horror and finds its way to hope, which some might say is unrealistic or idealistic, but others would say is necessary in order to keep one from being paralyzed with depression and crushing inevitability.  As Gianmarco Del Re has so often noted in his interviews with Ukrainian musicians, an indomitable human spirit continues to shine through the harshest of conditions.  So one might be surprised to see happy art in the booklet, including Anthony Carson’s illustration of children flying kites and Raiden Kubiak’s lovely “Dancing Under the Olive Trees.”  Poems, photographs, redactions and a chilling “game” are all found within these pages, representing different reactions to the crisis: a cooperative effort with a cumulative effect.

The album begins with Nibal Abd El Karim’s “Ya Lel Ma Atwalak,” a poignant a cappella song of separation.  This sets the stage for the rest of the set, casting a shadow of sadness.  Wooden Cities’ “Chain Gang” recalls American slavery and introduces a series of improvisers, each sharing their own distinct voice. Loss Pequeño Glazier offers poetry and field recording, allowing the droplets behind the voice to speak additional volumes.  The album has already tilted to the experimental side when Ben Willis’ one-minute “expectation” enters on a bed of drums and fractured syllables.  As Hayden writes, when a poet disappears, their unwritten poems disappear as well.  In similar fashion, Meredith Glina’s “Moon Drift” rests in quietude, not quite silenced, alive yet nearly still.

The liner notes call El Karim’s “Ya Sajani” the beginning of Side Two (of four); the artist will return twice more, like a prayer, continually cycling back to ground the listener.  No matter how far afield the music may travel, it has a home base.  Judy Ghost’s “The Atomic Clock of Doomsday Scientists” is a haunting drone meditation, a message of eradication that includes the entire world, not only a single colonized people.  Null Point’s “Hide Piece” suggests a prisoner scrawling on a wall before the jackboots enter, then trying unsuccessfully to light a fire.

The later works – in both booklet and album – nudge their way toward hope.  “The Urgent Call of Palestine,” one of two beat-laden electronic tracks, is surprisingly bright as it begs for international attention and action, while Shadow Plea’s finale “Ibrahim, Sunlight Shining Through the Windows, Illuminating Dust,” which is also the collection’s standout piece, seems an impossibility.  The piece is a threnody for a fallen Gaza child, yet reflects its title, an expression of beauty that inhabits the same time and place as tragedy.  The very fact that the track exists is evidence of the wealth that the genocide has been wiping away.  (Richard Allen)